The Beginning of After

said that. Blame it on the girl in the not-Laurel dress.
    “We have most of the night,” Joe echoed, and then he was standing up. “I’ve gotta go find a bathroom. You all right here?”
    I had my arms resting lightly on the lounge chair’s edges, my ankles crossed, my heels popped out of my shoes. I was slightly drunk, and the thought of people seeing me sitting alone by a pool had no effect on me. I was definitely all right.
    Joe was gone about a minute, maybe five. I’m not sure. I closed my eyes and listened to the murmurs, the music, rubbing my fingers lightly over my skirt.
    “Hi,” someone said from above me. I opened my eyes.
    It was David.
    This took a few seconds to register, the outline of his head frayed with Christmas lights. He had a bottle of something, too big to be a beer, in his hand, and there it was again, that pot smell. He was wearing a black jacket, but I could see the markings of a T-shirt decal underneath.
    “Hey,” I said, slowly sitting up. None of my usual David reactions were firing. No wanting to hide around a corner. No urge to pretend we’d never played Batman and Robin or collected rocks in the woods or even known each other at all.
    He walked around me and sat on the edge of the other chair, his elbows on his knees, the bottle—it was a two-liter soda bottle with no label, a flat, amber liquid inside—dangling between them.
    “What are you doing here?” he asked.
    “I was at the prom.”
    “You’re drunk.” David’s bottom lip curled down a bit, and he sniffed.
    “I don’t think so.” This conversation wasn’t going in the right direction. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be with your dad?”
    The thought of Mr. Kaufman made my vision tilt a little.
    “Haven’t been to the hospital in a few days,” said David casually.
    “Where have you been staying?”
    “This guy I know. His folks are out of town.” He looked at my dress, from the hem up. His eyes traveled quickly but steadily along the seam of the skirt, landed on my shoulder. “Nice outfit.” David took a swig from his bottle and shook his head slowly.
    “What?” I asked, taking the bait.
    “I just can’t believe you’re here. All dressed up, doing the prom thing. A freaking corsage.”
    I fingered the miniature roses on my wrist, unable to move beyond that, not knowing how to answer his non-questions. David took another swig from his bottle, and it occurred to me that he hadn’t yet looked me in the eye. My hair, my shoes, anywhere safe and only distantly related to the person he was saying these things to.
    “Leave me alone,” I finally said, swallowing hard. It came out lame, weak, a little kid being bullied on the playground. My mother had taught Toby what to say when I teased him: Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. It only made me laugh and tease him harder.
    “You’re living it up over here with Joe Lasky. Aren’t you even the slightest bit broken up by what happened to you?” David said.
    Something dark inside me knocked twice. He’s right, you know. Why are you in this place, when they can’t be? Just like you were home that night when you should have been with them.
    “That’s none of your business,” I said, trying to make it sound forceful. But then suddenly I popped out with: “What about you? If you’re here, why can’t I be here?”
    “Because we’re just crashing this party. Do you see me wearing a goddamn tux? My buddies and I came here to pour some kamikaze in the punch, then leave.”
    He held up his bottle as proof, but the kamikaze—if that’s what it was—was almost gone. Where was Joe? Joe would make David go away.
    David saw me looking toward the house. “Laurel, you can go to as many proms as you want, but it’s not going to change things.”
    “I know that.”
    “You’re an orphan. That’s what I heard someone say inside. ‘She’s an orphan now.’”
    The word made me think of Dickens, of Pip and David Copperfield and even Oliver! It wasn’t me. Clinically, officially, yes, but I’d never connected to it.
    I must have looked shocked, because David regarded me now with more regret than anger.
    “That came out sounding way harsher than I thought it would,” he said, then looked down at his kamikaze accusingly. I noticed his hands were shaking. “I wasn’t prepared to see you here,” he added, his voice a little deflated now.
    But if he was deflating, I was doing the opposite.